


fifty four point six and counting

by skogr



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, ME1, N7 Day, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5164529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skogr/pseuds/skogr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The main difference between Shepard and any other commanding officer he’s served under is that she’s just - there. All the time. In the mess, in the crew quarters, in the cargo bay. At first this startles him; he jumps spectacularly the first time she appears at his shoulder when he’s cleaning his rifle, and to his chagrin, she grins. Soon, he learns to anticipate it. She’s good company, actually; professional as hell but never stiff or awkward, which he could maybe stand to pick up from her. He doesn’t seek company from the rest of the crew often, he prefers to keep busy, focus on the mission. He also keeps sticking his foot so far down his throat that it’s really just best he avoids them before he ends up with a shotgun shoved in his face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fifty four point six and counting

**ii.**

 

The main difference between Shepard and any other commanding officer he’s served under is that she’s just - _there_. All the time. In the mess, in the crew quarters, in the cargo bay. At first this startles him; he jumps spectacularly the first time she appears at his shoulder when he’s cleaning his rifle, and to his chagrin, she _grins_. Soon, he learns to anticipate it. She’s good company, actually; professional as hell but never stiff or awkward, which he could maybe stand to pick up from her. He doesn’t seek company from the rest of the crew often, he prefers to keep busy, focus on the mission. He also keeps sticking his foot so far down his throat that it’s really just best he avoids them before he ends up with a shotgun shoved in his face.

So when they all disappear in various directions for brief shore leave on the Citadel, he’s left rather at a loose end. His apartment doesn’t tempt him, nor do his ex-colleagues at C-Sec. The thought of a meal not from a packet has some pull, but in the end, he finds himself alone in the cargo hold with a beat-up rover and the pleasant absorption of a difficult task.

She doesn’t half throw this thing about.

He hears her footsteps before he sees her, and when he judges them to be close enough, he straightens up with a respectful nod. As per everything he does, it causes something not unlike amusement to cross her face as she nods back. Friendly amusement, he thinks. Hopes.

“Not big on shore leave, huh?” she says, leaning against the Mako with a grin he doesn’t quite understand. She’s still wearing her Alliance uniform, fringe pulled up into the round arrangement on the top of her head he’s yet to see her without. There’s grease on her fingers which suggests she’s been cleaning her guns recently.

“Neither are you,” he points out, and then ducks his head to retrieve a tool, unsure if that was impertinent.

She just laughs. “Want some company?”

He looks up at her from where he’s crouching, and she looks back at him with a friendly expression as straightforward as the offer she’s extending. “I - yeah. Sure.”

To his surprise, she slides down to lean back against the Mako, sitting on the floor of the cargo bay. “Felt like I threw the front left wheel out on the last drop.”

“Just that one?” he mutters, and she laughs again, stretching her legs out in front of her with satisfaction.

After a few moments of watching him curiously - which he tries studiously to ignore, he’s not about to let her scrutiny make him nervous - she reaches up to her fringe and starts - _dismantling_ it? He casts her a startled look before snapping his attention back the Mako, so as not to gawp. He can’t stop himself from sneaking more furtive glances as she continues to unwind it, a thick coil of red emerging from the round structure on her head. In retrospect, he oughtn't be so surprised. The way it hangs now is consistent with the way other humans he’s seen have their fringe arranged, not that he’s ever paid particular attention to alien attire.

She sighs when it’s fully disentangled, rubs her fingers on her temples. This time he lets her catch his questioning look.

“Gives me a headache, sometimes.”

This clears precisely nothing up, but he nods curtly anyway. Evolution’s a vindictive bastard.

She winds her fingers through it, dragging it across one shoulder. Once she’s seemingly satisfied with that task, she parts it into three long strands and winds them around each other with surprisingly deftness.

“So,” she says, and he snaps his eyes back to her face with a start.

“Commander?”

Her smile is broad. “Shore leave, Garrus. Shepard will do just fine.”

“Shepard,” he repeats, and he can’t help feeling like she’s laughing at him.

“Although, if you want to play it that way, I can make it an order.” She’s definitely teasing him now. “If that makes you more likely to agree.”

He tips his head to one side. “Commander?” He winces the minute the word is out his mouth, and her grin grows even wider.

“We’re going for drinks,” she says firmly, wiping her hands on her knees before hauling herself to her feet. “I hear that’s what you’re supposed to do on shore leave.”

She looks different, with her hair twisted down across her shoulder. Nothing like the vids, nowhere near as polished as he’s used to seeing her. He wonders if this is her trick to moving about without being recognized. Certainly, whatever she does on shore leave is a mystery to the rest of the crew, from what he overhears in the mess.

He hesitates. There’s still a lot of work to be done on the rover, and he wanted to change out some of the parts on his rifle before Feros -

“Sure,” he says.

 

**iii.**

 

Alliance rations look beyond foul. Other species’ food never looks particularly appetizing to him, but these are on another level. Alenko, on double rations for his biotics, looks positively pained every meal time as he chokes down another serving of brown sludge with a side of sickly green mush.

But Shepard? She eats them with a cheerful gusto that belies the reactions of the rest of the crew. _Military brat_ , she says by way of explanation, but as Alenko points out, she still ought to have _tastebuds_ , and her apparent lack is alarming.

Her favorite is a small pack of something brown and square that apparently is in short supply. It’s a sort of chocolate cake, Williams explains, a meal’s worth of calories and nutrition crammed into something that’s supposed to taste good, and is usually given out on birthdays and special occasions. General opinion is that it’s painfully awful, but looks decent enough when you stick a candle in it, and when you’re stationed in the ass end of nowhere, it has a certain appeal. Garrus understands that.

Unsurprisingly, Shepard loves them, bad taste born of a lifetime of spacer birthdays and a sweet tooth that puts Tali to shame.

There’s an unspoken agreement that any they procure they save for her. Adams catches him in the lift on the way to the mess hall, throwing him a square packet to pass on to Shepard. He takes it, but finds himself strangely embarrassed to be the one to present it. He doesn't even eat their food.

“It’s from Adams,” he adds hastily, but her eyes have already lit up in his direction. It feels deceptive to let her continue directing that at him, but equally - it’s nice. Shepard’s good favor is always nice, whether it’s for taking a good shot, or bringing her disgusting chocolate cake. The former makes sense, the latter less so.

“This is exactly what I needed,” she says, and he notices her wince slightly as something loud clatters from across the mess. He wouldn’t have noticed that a few months ago. He’s getting better at reading humans.

He slides into the seat opposite her, nodding at Alenko and Joker as he does so. “Headache?”

“A little.” Her eyes flicker across to Alenko. “Nothing major.”

Williams and Joker exchange a significant look, before she leans across the table. “Um, Commander? Maybe if you let your hair down - “

“I told you, Ash,” Joker says matter of factly, “it doesn’t come down. No one has ever seen it down. The Hegemony are offering extortionate sums of money to anyone who can prove it’s even possible.”

Ashley scoffs. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? I’ve never seen it down, and I’ve known her for years. Hell, we’ve all worked on the same ship for months and I’ve still never seen it down.” Joker shoots Williams a smug smirk. “Have _you_ seen it down?”

“Well, no -”

“Kaidan?”

“No.”

“Garrus?”

Shepard meets his eyes across the table with an amused look, and reaches up to tap the side of nose in a gesture so subtle he nearly misses it. He’s not entirely sure how to interpret that.

“I, uh. No?”

“I even asked _Anderson_ ,” Joker continues, unperturbed, “and he said he’s never seen her _or_ her mom ever let their hair down.” He lowers his voice to a mock whisper. “They’re probably not even human.”

“I like it up,” Shepard says mildly, taking another bite of her cake.

“Look,” Ashley says, clearly getting desperate, “I’ve got this bet with Joker -”

“Ash! That’s cheating!”

“Could you just let it down for like, two minutes? The smug asshole will have to cough up two hundred credits.”

Shepard takes another maddeningly leisurely bite of her cake. “Hmm.”

“It’s her _look_ ,” Joker continues, pushing his tray away. “It’s on all the vids. I saw this talk show host once call it ‘the Shepard twist.’”

“Two minutes,” Williams repeats, and Shepard shoots her an apologetic grin around another mouthful of cake.

“Sorry, Ash. But if you want to win it back, I recommend Skyllian Five.” She stands up with another grin, and throws the crumpled up wrapper onto Joker’s tray. “His nose twitches when he’s bluffing.”

“Gee _thanks,_ Commander.

“Aww c'mon, Shepard -”

Joker smacks his hand on the table - presumably relatively gently, given his disposition to breaking bones - and laughs uproariously. “I told you, Williams. No one has ever seen it down. Give it up.”

Shepard shoots Garrus one last amused and conspiratorial look over her shoulder, and he doesn’t know what to do with that any more than he knows what to do with the memory of her propped against the Mako with her hair loose over one shoulder.

 

**iv.**

 

“Congrats on the reinstatement, Officer,” she says, which is news to him. She slides a glass across the bar, grinning as he blinks at her in confusion.

“What?”

“I hear someone put a good word in for you.” She gestures encouragingly at the glass in front of him. “‘Invaluable in saving the galaxy’, or something like that.”

It slots in place and he takes the drink with a low laugh. “Hero of the Citadel less than forty eight hours and already abusing your power. Terrible, Commander.”

Shepard snorts. “It’s the least I could do.” She taps her glass against his, apparently on purpose, and knocks it back. He does the same.

“I appreciate it.”

“Good,” she says, flashing him a genuine smile, “because I think you’ll do great.”

“What about you? Any word from the Council?”

She groans. “Geth clean-up, looks like. Damn waste of time.”

“Probably,” Garrus says, and he feels his stomach sink a little. Reinstatement is great. It’s what he wanted. Geth clean-up _is_ a waste of time, but he wants to be there.

She must catch a little of the emotion he’s trying to keep from his face, and settles down with her elbows on the bar and a serious expression. “I’d ask you along in a heartbeat, but it’d be unfair of me to make you make that choice. So I won’t.” She straightens up. “Just so you know.”

“Unfair?”

“I know going back to C-Sec is important to you, Garrus. And I know that if I ask, you’d feel like you had to say yes.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?”

“As your friend, I’d say yes,” she says with a rueful shrug, “but as your CO -”

“I thought you just got me reinstated.” He slides the empty glass back across the bar. “Technically, I’m not under your command anymore.”

She laughs quietly with a shake of the head. “Garrus -”

His dad dislikes her on principle, but if he could only hear this. Maybe he’d change his mind.

He’s going to be _pissed._

“Shepard,” he says, “just ask me the damn question.”

She looks at him, hard and scrutinizing, and he meets it as levelly as he can. “This could screw up your chances with C-Sec.”

“I know.”

“Just to run around the galaxy chasing geth.”

“I _know_ , Shepard.”

“Are all turians this stubborn?” she mutters, reaching for another glass. “Because it explains a lot.”

Garrus stays silent, eyes never leaving her face. After a few moments she sighs in exasperation only to follow it up with a half-stifled grin.

“Fine. You coming with?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

She laughs properly then, elbowing him in the side with her strangely sharp human elbow. They grin at each other, co-conspirators once more, and he is struck by just how happy this makes him. A few minutes ago, he’d been pleased with reinstatement.

Then Liara is tugging at her and Tali is laughing and everyone falls into place around her because that’s just what they do. Alenko appears to be heading the ‘Getting Shepard to Dance’ committee and she’s protesting in a half-hearted sort of way, so Garrus gives her a shove in the back and a wicked grin when she glares at him over her shoulder.

Honestly, he likes knowing there’s _something_ she’s terrible at. 

She catches him outside later when the celebrations are winding down, already reaching up to unravel her bun, which has started to look a little worse for wear for the first time since he met her. Her dancing lacks for pretty much everything except enthusiasm. She runs her fingers through her hair and sighs, looking out across the Citadel as she stops to stand next to him.

“Will you miss it?”

“Not really.”

He can still hear the dull thud of the bass behind them. Turns out nothing gets the Wards going like a near death experience.

“Sorry I lost you that bet, Ash,” she says, to no one in particular. “I’ll beat him at Skyllian Five for you someday.”

There’s nothing he can say to that except maintain a respectful silence, which he does. Eventually, she sighs, and though he means to stay silent a little longer, the next question slips out before he can stop it.

“Why hasn’t anyone seen it down?”

She laughs softly, which stops a little of the mortification he feels at having blurted it out at such an inopportune moment.

“You heard Joker,” she says, clearly amused. “It’s my ‘look.’ Ever since the Blitz, they’ve plastered that clip of me with my hair like that everywhere. No escaping it now.”

“Right,” he says, unconvinced. “So it’s just a - a publicity stunt?”

“You know, I never meant for it to be a _thing_. It’s just - it’s part of my uniform. You know there’s a pool going on how long it actually is? I saw it once, the longest was _two meters._ Where do they think I'm keeping it all? Anyway, once I heard that, I... kinda just enjoyed messing with them.”

Garrus hums uncertainly, watching her out the corner of his eye. “But not me."

“Not you,” she agrees, and flashes him a mischievous grin. “Guess you’re just lucky.”

“Guess I am.”

She leans in closer and winks. “At its longest, fifty four point six centimeters. I’ll keep you updated with accurate measurements if you agree to split the winnings.”

“Deal,” he says, and she laughs as she starts to pin it back up.

“Big day tomorrow,” she says, “lot of big, scary geth to chase whilst ignoring the real problem.” She pats her bun one last time, and looks up at him with an inscrutable expression. “Still time to rethink going back to C-Sec.”

“Not a chance,” he says, and her grin is his reward.

 

**i.**

 

He’s seen her on the vids, of course - she’s made enough of a name for herself even outside her own species - soundbites interspersed with footage of a now-peaceful Elysium. He watched them all with interest. It was, as his dad scoffed, _quite a feat_ , but unlike his father he wasn’t inclined to be so skeptical about it.

Lucky for him he paid attention, or else he wouldn’t recognize the human woman striding towards him in the Council Chambers. He isn’t good with human faces, he hasn’t learned the nuances of their structure well enough to identify them by that alone. It’s her fringe that he recognizes, the N7 on her chest that confirms his suspicions. A dark, rusty red, gathered mostly to the top and back of her head in a plump, sleek ball. It might be intentional or it might just grow like that; he doesn’t know. What he _does_ know is that it’s the exact same shape and color that he saw on the vids, and the human attached to it is looking at him curiously.

He is, for a fleeting moment, embarrassed. Commander Shepard, famous war hero, and here he is getting the dressing down of a lifetime. She folds her arms and the feeling passes, mortification replaced with indignation. He has the distinct impression, for no real reason, that this is finally someone who will hear him out.

Impressionable, his dad always called him. A good judge of character, his mom amended gently. He figures it’s time to put that to the test.

He takes a step forward.

“Commander Shepard -”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something fun and cute set during ME1 for N7 day, and I have this incredible love for how extensively people think about the tiniest details of their Shepards - like their hair - so here's one of mine.


End file.
